Mormon Than A Feeling

I find the Mormon religion fascinating; I’ve been known to watch BYU TV for hours and am slowly making my way through the vast literature written about its church’s history and development. While it is (fairly) easy to point out some of Mormonism’s extremely questionable claims—see, for instance, South Park—I think that there are some really interesting ways the Mormons have incorporated the concepts of Law and Gospel into their theology. If you’re interested, talk to our resident expert, Jacob Smith (I’m still hoping he’s going to call me up to his planet someday:).

Along those lines, I’ve finally gotten around to reading Jon Krakauer’s book Under the Banner of Heavenabout hyper-fundamentalist Mormons (these are not your Pepsi/Jet-Blue Mormons).This book explores the religious motivation behind the calculated murder of a young woman and her child by members of a fundamentalist Mormon sect. I have to confess that while reading I was overcome by a profound sense of unease, not because I have anything particular against Mormons, and not because I think that we’re all in danger of fundamentalist violence like that described in the book; on the contrary, what was unsettling was how similar the justification these particular Mormons had for their actions is to much of contemporary Christian thought. These men were acting completely in line with Mormon epistemology, meaning that they were making decisions based upon how Mormon “theology” claims God speaks to people, through their feelings. Like when Mormons appeal to their faith as “an inner confirmation of the truth,” so these men were convinced by their feelings that God was telling them to kill.

“So, what does this have to do with Christianity?” you ask. Well, everything. If the validity of religion, or of a religious message, rests on or is substantiated by whether it answers a particular felt need, then the Feuerbachian/Marxist critique stands, and those who have developed better ways of coping with reality will have fewer and fewer reasons to resort to projecting their problems on a God of their own making.

This is not to say that I reject the idea of a “Theology from the bottom up.” Certainly not! The Gospel can never be separated from the everyday cares and concerns—the experiences—that make up our perceived world. But, as has been argued, theology that begins with Jesus’ life, death and resurrection as the grounds for both confession and speculation, can never get too far from the Cross and the shadow of healthy (necessary) self-skepticism that it casts over all of our pretensions. This is why we affirm that, although people are vaguely aware of something wrong with the world in general, only the Law preached can convert that annoyingly persistent general unease—an idea best summed up by the phrase, “I’m only human”–to Peter’s specific confession of “Go away, for I am a sinful man”—the only true confession. Through a variety of psychological neo-mystical palliative guilt management Oprahisms, the former can be effectively numbed, thus convincing the unwitting person that the erosion of hope and growing despair is one of the mysteries of life.

I’m sure we all know people, or maybe have been in the situation ourselves, completely convinced that we know both what ails us and what would alleviate that pain, only to find out that what we really needed was a Snickers bar, or maybe to sit down for a while. Or maybe you’ve found yourself in a position of having, like Monty Brewster, “all of your wildest dreams” come true, and yet you find yourself confronted with another set of problems. In other words, what I’m arguing is that total reliance on our own felt needs implies a self awareness and knowledge of who we are and what we really need that goes beyond the reach of what the Cross and the Gospel imply about our capabilities and capacities. What’s more, it makes our dependence on God inversely proportionate to our sense of emotional wellbeing. Feelings of “absolute dependence” (cf. Schliermacher), while certainly more in line with a theology of the cross, are nevertheless still feelings, and as such, are just as fleeting as feelings of absolute world domination.

Mercifully, the message of the Gospel, while certainly mediated (for better or worse) by our feelings, is nevertheless not contingent upon our own subjective appropriation of the message. These are comforting words: Jesus Christ came to save Sinners—whether you feel like one or not!

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19 comments

"Under the Banner of Heaven" is an astounding book. Great work, Jady. It seems like much of the work of the church is to name that "general unease." I find myself doing that a lot more than I find myself "naming the unknown God," although the two certainly go together. The Gospel lesson on Sunday was Peter's proclamation of Jesus as Messiah, followed by his misunderstanding of the Messiah's process. Jesus' chastisement ("Get behind me Satan") doesn't revoke his founding of the Church on Peter's Rock. Peter is justified despite his lack of understanding.

Yes, and even as we struggle with the subordination of our view of the world with God's view, we find that Christ simultaneously embodies the same struggle (in the cries of anguish at Gethsemane and Golgotha), and provides the resolution through his own death.

However, we do not want to distrust emotions altogether (not that this is what you were saying), because they are also the gift of God!

This is excellent! I am always so grateful when reminded that the truth of our faith does not rest on us in anyway whatsoever. I am addicted to the feelings that tell me the opposite, which, in turn causes me great despair because my feelings seldom, if ever, match up with the Gospel. I always "feel" like it's up to me. I always "feel" fear and worry. I always "feel" alone.

These feelings affirm my need to hear the Gospel proclaimed again everyday. Most of the time I need my feelings to be proven wrong, and thankfully the cross of Christ does just that. It tells me that it is not up to me, I can have peace in His completed work, and I am never alone.

Nick's appeal to the story of Peter's proclamation is spot on. Matthew's account of the interchange between Jesus and Peter is even more explicit than the one in Mark, which is this week's reading. When Peter proclaims Jesus as the Christ and the Son of God, Jesus responds by saying that the Father in heaven revealed this to him (Matthew 16:13-28). In other words, our recognition of Jesus for who He actually is is due to the gift of faith from God above. It is not based in our feelings or anything that comes from within ourselves.

As Nick points out, this is proven when Peter, moments later, rebukes Jesus when He tells them what the Messiah must in fact do to save them. Peter in effect is rejecting the idea that they would need such a Savior. He had no understanding of how bad his situation really was (neither do any of us), and, as you point out Jady, that is where the correct presentation of the Law comes in.

I obviously needed to work some of this out. Thanks for opening up the opportunity to do so with your post, dude!

Jady, I agree that feelings are variable and ever-changing- specifically with regard to their intended solutions. But is there anything that is a constant about these feelings? Aren't we "looking for love in all the wrong places"?

Fantastic post Jady. I find myself wrestling with both a bottom-up theology and the objective/ historical/ exterior events that constitute God's reconciliation with mankind. My head is in one place, my heart in another.

Similarly, Do I address the FELT need or the TRUE one? Do I "speak the truth in love"? Or, dying to my own supposed righteousness, should I acquiesce, pronounce the forgiveness of sins, and simply listen?

I know that what I want to do, in my sinful state, is assert myself. Thus, by default, I tend to side with death. With the opposite of what I want to do.

I hope its true that Love is greater than truth. To quote Seattle's Moondoggies: "Dont make it right, make it easy"

Do I address the FELT need or the TRUE one? Do I "speak the truth in love"? Or, dying to my own supposed righteousness, should I acquiesce, pronounce the forgiveness of sins, and simply listen?

this is exactly the question that, I think, we are unqualified to address.

Sometimes the idea of "just listening" is just as patronizing and self-righteous (in the sense that I know what's best) than giving someone a list of right and wrongs. Both presume to "really know" what is wrong with someone and what they need.

People's "felt needs" can often be for more control, more direction, less freedom (ie. Law) just as easily as they can be for any number of things. . . that's what I was trying to say. Our "felt needs" may be echoes of a real need, but are not answered in the way that we think–foolishness of the world and soforth:)

The answer, IMHO, is to stick to what we can pronounce and give that is independent of and external to us and our felt needs, and trust and pray that there will be an intersection of the two.

“Through a variety of psychological neo-mystical palliative guilt management Oprahisms, the former can be effectively numbed, thus convincing the unwitting person that the erosion of hope and growing despair is one of the mysteries of life.”

This sentence is pure 24k gold

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